


Fun in the Sun

by VigilantShadow



Series: Amnesty Prompt Fills [4]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast)
Genre: Just some crime dudes playing volleyball, M/M, Prompt Fill, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 17:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantShadow/pseuds/VigilantShadow
Summary: Ned hadn't intended to hit a hot British guy over the head with a volleyball. But hey, he could roll with the punches.





	Fun in the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meowrails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/gifts).



> This one's for gaytaako/albaaca on tumblr.
> 
> [You can also read it on my blog.](http://sternspatreon.tumblr.com/post/183877941574/gaytaako-here-it-is-the-literal-first-time-ive)

Ned liked to think that, on any given day, he gave off the impression of being pretty good at crime. Sometimes, he thought he might’ve managed it. He did drive a pretty cool car, after all, and that wasn’t the sort of thing incompetent criminals did.

Unfortunately, being a pretty good criminal kind of implied base level competency at, say, hand-eye coordination. Which, well. He’d kind of fucked up at about the same time he gave the guy walking by the volleyball court a concussion. Or, given his upper body strength and general competence at sports, probably “tapped the guy walking by the volleyball court on the head a little bit.”

Which meant that when the guy collapsed dramatically to the ground, Ned was pretty sure he’d found a man after his own heart.

“Are you alright?” Ned asked, jogging over with a look of maybe-exaggerated worry on his face. If it turned out this guy was  _actually_ injured, he’d let it leak over into actual worry. Maybe. Depending on how injured.

“Yeah,” the man said, all smooth and some kind of English. He smiled, grinned, showing off one gold canine and several other slightly crooked teeth. There was pain there. Just the right amount of pain for some poor asshole to pity him. “Just caught me off guard is all.”

Yep, Ned recognized something in that smile. Most definitely a man after his own heart.

“Sorry about that,” Ned said, just as sincerely as Mr. Tall Strong and Charming. “I get a little excited when I play volleyball. They call me Robert ‘Spike’ Blithe for a reason after all.”

The man sat there for a moment, face blank, and Ned took a moment to feel satisfied that he’d thrown this guy’s plan to do…whatever it was he was aiming to do for a loop. Then, the guy’s eyes flashed with the kind of satisfaction Ned knew came from finding someone up to the same kind of no good as him.

“No they don’t,” the guy said, voice low enough for the conversation to be between just the two of them.

“No, they  _don’t_ ,” Ned agreed. “But I don’t give out my real name until the third date.”

The guy laughed, sharp and the kind of charming Ned had to try hard to be.

“Well, mine’s Boyd,” the guy said, flashing his gold teeth in another smile. “Since you’re saving your real name for the third date, figure I might as well save the last one.”

The laugh Ned gave at that wasn’t even fake. Ned was pretty sure that meant he was losing the battle of wills that may or may not have been occurring.

“Well, Boyd, sorry for any serious injury I may have done to your person.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” Boyd said, grin growing sharper. “Say, who’s your mark here?”

“My mark?” Ned said innocently. He knew Boyd could see through it, he knew Boyd knew that he knew Boyd could see through it.

“Come on, Robert. Bob. Do you mind if I call you Bob?” Boyd didn’t wait before continuing, “Bob, we both know what kind of men we are. And we both know why men like us lurk around places frequented by the rich and famous.”

Ned didn’t actually run into all that many other criminals. He had a feeling that he’d get sick of this sort of back and forth fast but, well. He had a type, and Boyd McWhateverHisLastNameWas checked off every single criteria on that list. So, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to play a little mental chess. Battle of the wills. Flirting. He’d figure out what this was later.

In the meantime, Ned leaned forward, examining the spot where he’d nailed Boyd with the volleyball. Best to keep up the appearances.

“Actually, I’d  _intended_ to go to the normal beach. Catch some waves, soak up some waves, you know, that whole thing. But hey, I wasn’t gonna say no to playing on a volleyball team with somebody that’s probably got a couple thousand dollars worth of stuff in their gym bag.”

Specifically that necklace that the player in…whatever the Hell the front left position was had taken upon quitting her job as Ann Hathaway’s PA, and then bragged about it to their friends in a place that all kinds of opportunistic bastards could overhear.

“That’s very reasonable of you. So, which bag are you calling?”

“Red bag, my team, off to the left.”

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d want the absolutely  _hideous_ snakeskin purse on the other side. That would be  _terribly_ awkward.”

Yes, yes it would. Ned could probably have made it work, but it would’ve been an extra pain in his ass, and he’d had to deal with too many of those in the past week.

“So, if you were to, say, get an opportunity to be close to said purse, you’d be satisfied getting  _me_ an opportunity to be close to that red bag I’ve found myself…drawn to?”

Boyd tilted his head in what might have been agreement. Ned held out a hand, and he took it, squeezing just a little too hard. Ned didn’t wince, because he still had a first impression to make. First impressions were important in Ned’s line of work, on account of if all went well the first time he met someone tended to be the last time as well.

Ned sort of hoped he’d have time to make a second or third one as well, in this case.

“Say,” Ned said, loudly enough for the schmucks on his team to hear, “let me make it up to you. How about you join our team, and you can have the satisfaction of absolutely obliterating your foes at volleyball?”

Someone on the other team voiced an objection, half-jokingly. Like he was a good friend, and not a stranger they’d met less than half a year ago. The whole lot of them were just a little tipsy; tipsy enough to forget how well they knew or didn’t know a person, but not drunk enough for them to start questioning the meaning of life and therefore how well they knew or didn’t know a person.

“Well,” Boyd said, a spark of something in his eyes, “obliterating my foes  _does_ sound rather good, right now.” He got just a little closer to Ned, and Ned tried to pretend this didn’t affect him. “Unfortunately for you,” Boyd continued, danger threading into his voice, “you’re the only foe I see here.”

He sauntered past Ned toward the other side of the court. His new team cheered.

Ned let out a shaky breath and smiled. Oh, this was going to be a  _good_ day.

Ned’s team scored two more points before he decided to enact phase two of his plan. As he hit the ball directly toward Boyd’s head, it occurred to him that they hadn’t actually  _discussed_ this plan, and Boyd was jacked enough to absolutely destroy him if he decided not to play along.

Once again, Boyd fell back onto the sand with a lot more drama than was necessary. His teammates crowded around him, one of them jeering in Ned’s direction. Ned smiled sheepishly, hoping he wasn’t about to die. Dying wasn’t on his agenda for the day.

Boyd stood, brushing himself off and snarling at Ned. Ned took a step back, fear only half fake as Boyd grabbed onto the collar of the tacky Hawaiian shirt Ned had thrown on as part of his cover. Boyd leaned in close again, and Ned could smell tic-tacs on his breath.

“Only kind of sorry about this, mate,” Boyd whispered, then pulled back his fist and clocked Ned across the jaw. Ned thought he did a good job of out-dramaing Boyd, flopping down and clutching his face like this was the first time he’d ever been punched. Ned’s team let out a series of  _hey, not fairs_ and  _I’m not gonna play against a guy like thats_. Boyd threw up his hands and stalked over to the sidelines, coincidentally next to where his team kept their bags. Ned stumbled over to his own side, rubbing his jaw until the game started up again.

Then he reached over and carefully unzipped the bag, sliding out his prize as the owner of the bag scored a point. Ned slid the necklace into the pocket on the chest of his shirt. Then he looked up at Boyd, just in time for Boyd to shut the purse and look up at Ned. Ned winked. Boyd gave a small mock bow. They both went back to watching the game.

When the festivities were over, Ned wandered away and checked his pocket. The necklace was still there. So was a slip of paper with an unfamiliar phone number. Ned grinned. Maybe he’d end up telling Boyd his real name, after all.

Or, well. He’d tell Boyd his name was Ned Chicane. 


End file.
